


Mosaics

by Meskeet



Series: A Gathering of Avengers Oneshots [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Action, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1: An introduction, a bank robber, a case of mistaken identity, a near drowning, and some brotherly love. There will be five themes posted per chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mosaics

_Introduction_

“Pepper Potts,” she tells him coolly, clasping a file within her arms. She clenches it in her white fingers like a shield, keeping it between her and the rest of the world.

There’s an anger burning behind her gaze, a cool dislike of him and what he’s brought down upon her.

He holds out a hand, giving her a genial smile. The waves of annoyance intensify, burning bright like a fire.

“Steve Rogers,” he tells her softly.

Ms. Potts looks up and down his body, analyzing him. Something in her gaze lets Steve know that he’s come up short – how, he doesn’t know.

“I’m aware,” she tells him. His hand still hangs between the two of them. “Tony’s informed me.”

Steve slowly retracts his hand and she turns away, her displeasure at his appearance manifesting clearly. “You look different without your suit,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Tony’s in room 3.”

You look different without your suit, is a pointed blow, an echo of what he told Tony when they first met. 

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” he calls after her, striding down the hallway.

Either she doesn’t hear, or she doesn’t respond.

Steve thinks it’s more of the latter.

_Love_

Thor watches Loki slump in his cell, a pitiful ragged creature. If Thor takes another step forward, he will be within the sphere of Frigg’s spell. 

Thor can see the line that dampens magic, can see where the bright life-magic of Asgard is met by Frigg’s containment. Loki crouches within it as an abused animal would – waiting for the next blow delivered by its masters, waiting for the mercy of death.

Thor places his hand on the outer barrier. It moves like water – barely resisting, waiting to allow him through.

A slow exhale.

Thor does not step through the barrier, does not let Loki sense his presence. He waits in the darkness, a simple observer filled with hope.

One day, perhaps, Loki will return to them. 

_Memory_

The crack of a rifle from far away startled him, and he whirled around, shield at the ready. Steve smiled as the man trying to sneak up behind him fell, bullet through the head and body hitting the ground moments later. “Thanks, Bucky,” he said with a grin, giving the sniper a thumps up. After a moment of waiting for Bucky to reply, the smile slipped. He’d forgotten again. Adrenaline and pain had fogged his mind once more.

Steve let his shield rest against the earth, weariness clogging his every pore, even as Clint replied, “No problem, Cap.”

The archer didn’t point out his mistake, simply accepted things as they were. There was another crack and Steve turned to see a man several feet away sent staggering, a hand to his throat. 

“Is that all of them?” Steve asked.

Barton paused. “Unless I missed something.”

Hawkeye didn’t miss. They all knew that, which is why Steve felt safe returning his shield to his back. Infiltration complete, Steve took a moment to reorient himself. 2012, he thought firmly. Not World War II.

_Stalling_

“Please,” Bruce says, hands spread out disarmingly at his side. He can feel the Hulk straining at the edges of his bonds, testing for a way out. “You don’t have to do this.”

The man looks at him, almost curiously. He takes a step forward. “What makes you think that?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. The man is dead, he just doesn’t know it yet.

“Please,” Bruce says, voice lilting slightly as he continues a frantic mantra of calm calm calm. “Please, don’t try to kill me.”

Bruce swallows a mouthful of blood, grimacing at its taste. He can’t let the Hulk loose – not here. Not when there are civilians around, their fragile bodies ripe for abuse. 

Doctor Bruce Banner, bleeding and tired and pissed to hell at the amount of people who think that the Hulk is just an overgrown puppy, kneels at the feet of a two-bit robber and begs for his life.

“Are you begging?” the robber looks rather satisfied. 

“Look, I just wanted to withdraw some cash from my account,” Bruce replies quickly and urgently. The Hulk’s beginning to settle as the initial pulse of adrenaline fades a bit. “My roommates – they just wanted me to get the groceries and I wanted to-“

“Shut up,” the man orders. The gun’s levelled at Bruce’s head and oh god he can feel the Hulk at the surface.

“Please,” Bruce says again. The Hulk’s so close, waiting to tear its way free. Bruce shudders. “Just… don’t point the gun at me. Safer for everyone, right?”

“Stop begging,” the man tells him, coming closer so that his gun was inches away from Bruce’s head. “You’re so fu-“

“I’m not begging,” Bruce grits out as he feels his body tense. He can hear the Hulk roaring at the sight of the gun and Bruce feels like he can’t fit in his body anymore, as though he’s about to tear apart at the seams. “I’m stalling.”

“Stalling?” the man’s eyes widen, and suddenly he’s not standing there anymore. In his place is Natasha, bloody knife in one hand and not a hair out of place. She even gives a slightly disdainful sniff as she looks down at the would-be bank robber.

“Doctor Banner,” Natasha inclines her head respectfully, holding out her unarmed hand.

Bruce takes it gratefully and rises. “Miss Romanov,” he tells her. The Hulk begins to fade, the lack of danger (Romanov excluded) causing the last dregs of adrenaline to wash from Bruce’s body. “I expected you earlier.”

Natasha shrugs. “Traffic,” she explains, not even bothering to disguise the lie. Bruce crosses his arms as she gives thestand down signal out the window.

“For you or for Barton?” he asks.

From what Bruce can tell, her smile isn’t completely faked. “Both.”

_Drowning_

Tony chokes.

He can’t help it – he’d been thrown into the water before he could take a proper breath, and the impact knocked any remaining oxygen out of his lungs. When he’d submerged, he’d desperately tried to take in a gulp of air and ended up with a mouthful of water instead.

Ever since Afghanistan, and after that, the Mandarin, Tony’s avoided large bodies of water with good reason. Hell, he doesn’t even get into the swimming pool unless there’s no other options.

The urge to cough is almost overwhelming. Tony can feel the cough rising in his throat, threatening to burst free. 

He can’t count on any of the others to pull him out. For all he knows, they aren’t even aware he’s in the water.

Tony coughs.

He tries not to draw in any more water, but he can’t help it.

It’s impossible to tell up from down. The fall had been disorienting enough for him, and combined with the effort of not drowning, it’s been enough to keep him from righting himself.

Raw panic seizes him as another cough rips through his chest. Tony thrashes, eyes straining despite the salt water, as he attempts to find the surface. 

He fails.

He’s been under for only a few seconds, the cool, calculating part of his brain notes. Not nearly enough time to shut down. Not nearly enough time to sink too far beneath the water. Not nearly enough time to… drown.

He’s almost drowned before. It’s not an experience he cares to repeat.

Frantically he strikes out. It seems reasonable to kick in one direction, even if it’s the wrong one. He has a fifty percent chance, maybe better, of succeeding in going the right direction.

Tony starts kicking. It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. For all he knows, this is just another failure on a long list of costly mistakes.

He pulls at the watcher frantically, struggling to break free. He can’t do this, he can’t do this, damn it, he can’t do this, he can’t-

Something grasps Tony’s hand with surprising ferocity and begins to tug.

He doesn’t have to do this. The realization hits him. He doesn’t have to do this – to handle every single problem, to rely only on himself.

Tony stops fighting and lets the grip pull him to the surface.


End file.
